In Due Time
by The Yankee
Summary: Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth meet under different circumstances.
1. Chapter 1

Will Darcy came down from Cambridge as soon as he had the news. His father's letter had been short: _Mother dead, baby as well. Come as soon as you can._

The funeral was a hasty affair put together by his father's steward, though nonetheless well-attended. Anne Darcy was very popular, and for good reason. Yet her own husband abstained from the rituals, and it was left to Will and nine-year-old Georgie to greet the guests and accept their condolences.

It didn't end there. The Darcy's received an onslaught of guests afterward, people coming by to pay condolences, bringing gifts and lingering for hours afterward. Will didn't understand their purpose. He wanted to be alone, to sit quietly with his sister, to remember his mother. He did not want to entertain these people, most of whom he did not know, and especially not alone. For still Mr. Darcy remained locked up, a voluntary prisoner, lost for grief. Will had not seen him in days, nor did he dare approach his father's room.

Mr. Darcy had met Anne Weston when he was a boy and had loved her unconditionally ever since. From the start, there was no one else for him, everyone said. And he married her the day after she turned sixteen, and that marriage lasted twenty-five years. Mr. Darcy had known nor desired a life without Anne.

"Most people aren't so lucky," said Mrs. Gardiner, who was Mrs. Darcy's dearest friend from girlhood, "to have what your parents had. He'll need time, Will. And you, my love, will have to grow up."

But Will did not want to grow up. He was supposed to be a privileged young gentleman, enjoying his last year at university before returning home to learn how to run the estate. He was supposed to have family and youth and time, not the burden of sorrow and an absent father and responsibility thrust upon him.

So he retreated, to the library, far into the stacks, where he could remain undetected. He read and he slept and he wept and he dreamt of his mother. When Georgie came to find him, he rebuked her so sternly she cried. She did not return.

An eon later, he was found again.

"Will," said a voice from very faraway. "William."

Will's eyes shot open. The vague shape of Mrs. Gardiner appeared before him.

"Will, I've brought someone for you to meet," she said.

Before his mother's death, before his father took to his bed, Will never would have dared to speak a contrary word to Mrs. Gardiner. Both Mr. and Mrs. Darcy respected her too much. He himself respected her too much. Georgie called her "Aunt Marie."

But the order of things was all wrong. He should not be left alone to manage an estate and a fortune and a little girl, while his beautiful young mother lay in a grave and his father shut himself up.

"No," he said, shutting his eyes again, knowing he sounded petulant. "I don't want to meet anyone. I don't need your pity, Marie."

If Mrs. Gardiner was shocked at his use of her first name, she did not show it. "Well, it's not on your account I'm bringing her. She's new to town, staying with Edward and me for a few weeks, and I'd like to introduce her to our dearest friends. She's our niece, you see, from the country. She knows not a soul and I believe you could spare a half hour of your time. I thought of you first, Will, because you were always the sweetest and most kind-hearted boy, and I doubt that will ever change. I trusted a half an hour of conversation would not hurt you. I trusted that would not be an imposition."

Will opened his eyes again, finally seeing Mrs. Gardiner, his mother's confidante, a second mother to him, and now all he had left in this world that was willing to reach out to him. A wave of shame washed over him, and he sat up straight.

"I...I would be honored, madam," he said finally.

He rose as Mrs. Gardiner's niece entered the room.

She was plain enough, with her common features and clearly second-hand frock. Her nose was crooked and off-center; her hair unruly. Her smile revealed a slight gap between her two front teeth.

But her eyes - multiple shades of green that challenged and fixated him - her eyes were all Will saw.

Those eyes - Anne Darcy had them too. They were brown, but the resemblance was overpowering. For twenty-one years, she stared at her son through them, loving him, berating him, supporting him.

He'd thought them incomparable.

And here they were, on this girl, some country bumpkin relative of the Gardiners' without a farthing to her name.

Forgetting his guilt and his obligation, Will Darcy walked straight past her out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

><p>What he hadn't expected was that she would follow him.<p>

"Mr. Darcy! Wait, Mr. Darcy, sir!"

Part of the reason that Will didn't answer was that he did not want to be followed. And the other was that no one called him Mr. Darcy.

He wheeled around. "What? What is it?"

"I wanted to say that I am most sorry if I've offended you." Her words came out fast and furious. "I told Aunt Marie this would offend you most terribly, that you needed your time to grieve, but she was so certain that this would do you good. But I know...I know all you want to do is be alone. I shouldn't blame you, not at all."

Despite himself, Will remained planted in his spot.

"How did you know what I would want?"

"My father," she whispered back. "He passed last year. Aside from Jane, my sister, he was my greatest friend."

For the first time since his father's letter, something besides self-pity arose in Will.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said awkwardly, and he meant it.

"I miss him still," she said, meeting his gaze. "But time helps with that. It will not always be so bad."

Of all the mourners and well-wishers, no one had said this to Will.

"Thank you," he returned.

"I best be going, my aunt will be waiting," she said, and she curtsied, about to turn on her heel.

"Wait! Your name?"

She smiled at him, making Will feel something he'd never felt in his entire life.

"Elizabeth, sir," she said. "Elizabeth Bennet."


	2. Chapter 2

Ultimately, Elizabeth Bennet was right. Time healed his wounds.

The change was not immediate. Nor was it permanent.

Some days, Will found, were easier than others. But then easier days started to pile on top of one another. Days on end on which he could not wait to rise in the morning and learn.

And learn he did. While his father pined, Will became the master of Pemberley. He learned accounts, he learned about his tenants, and the crops they produced, and he found he could sit at a desk for four hours answering letters, and still it would not be enough.

But Will was determined to do right - and sometimes, drifting off into a sated sleep at night, he would realize he'd gone through the whole day without once thinking of his mother. And when he did remember her, the thought was not painful; it was more bittersweet and sometimes, the memories made him smile.

Georgie grew up before his eyes. She was beautiful, the image of her mother, well-educated, though painfully shy. Mr. Darcy eventually left his bedroom, but he never resumed his full duties as master of Pemberley. He died of typhoid before Georgie's fourteenth birthday. While his death affected the Darcy siblings deeply, they both knew they had lost him long before illness set on.

There were women in those years as well. Will was a man, but he was conscientious and careful and made no commitments. He knew what was due his family name, and just before his twenty-eighth birthday, he proposed to his cousin Anne DeBourgh, a sickly girl four years his junior.

Anne accepted, of course, for her mother, Will's Aunt Catherine, would not have given her another option. The DeBourgh's had a great deal of money, and the Darcy name spoke for itself. The union had been the particular wish of Mrs. Darcy and her sister Catherine. The wedding could wait a year or two, she decided, which did not bother Will in the slightest. He had no feelings toward his marriage whatsoever, excitement nor dread. He expected he would be a good husband to Anne. He would make her happy. He hoped she might give him a son. He did not think about what would be required of him for that, for he regarded Anne almost as he did Georgie, a young girl, a sister, and not worthy of his scrutiny.

* * *

><p>Aunt Catherine wrung a peal over his head when Will announced he was paying a visit to the Gardiners' home in London just after he and Anne announced their engagement.<p>

"Really, nephew, how selfish!" she complained. "You know Anne's health won't permit her to travel so far, and you know it's inappropriate for you to be parading about town as though you were eligible."

"I'm hardly parading," Will said as calmly as he could. "I don't intend to do anything that would bring down scrutiny upon the family or our engagement. The Gardiner's are old friends; I owe them a visit. I'll be back in a week, Aunt, you'll hardly miss me."

To Anne, he said, "I'm off, my dear, goodbye," and she replied with a wan smile and a soft wish for a safe journey. He knew he could expect little trouble from that quarter.

And that was how Will Darcy found himself one rainy afternoon in the Gardiners' Gracechurch Street drawing room, being introduced to a number of plain-looking guests at teatime. He did not pay attention to the courtesies until Mr. Gardiner gestured over a particularly captivating dark-haired woman.

"Will, this is my niece, Mrs. Pauley," Mr. Gardiner said. "Lizzie, may I present Mr. Darcy? His family are close friends of ours."

Will prepared to bow over Mrs. Pauley's hand, kiss it, utter some useless courtesy, and promptly forget her name.

But then he saw her eyes.

He had seen them before: green, defiant, comforting, all at the same time, confusing him and enthralling him.

He and Mrs. Pauley looked at one another, comprehension dawning on them both at the same time.

"Elizabeth Bennet!" he exclaimed.

She smiled. "Mr. Darcy."

"You've met?" asked Mr. Gardiner, perplexed.

Elizabeth smiled. "Yes, Uncle. Aunt Marie introduced us, a number of years ago. Before I was married." She turned to Will, grinning. "It's been a while since I've heard myself called Elizabeth Bennet. It sounds awfully strange to me now."

"It's all I know you as, madam," he said. "Though I suppose I could learn new habits."

Mr. Gardiner bowed, smiling.

"I shall leave you to reacquaint yourselves."

Oddly, Will was glad to see him go. He wanted to be alone with Elizabeth, the strange girl who had comforted him, though he was cruel to her, and who was now married.

"_Mrs._ Pauley?" he asked immediately. "You were half a girl when I saw you last."

"You speak as though you knew me," Elizabeth laughed.

"I felt I did," Will confessed. "You told me things would be better...and they were."

Elizabeth touched his hand. "I wouldn't have lied, sir, you know."

They stared at one another for a moment, and Will felt it again: that strange desire mixed with a need to protect her.

"Your husband," he said, finally, knowing this topic would effectively banish the feeling.

"What of him?"

"Well, who is he? How did you meet?"

"His name is James," said Elizabeth. "I've known him since I was a girl. We lived in the same neighborhood; our families have been friends for years. And we grew up and we fell in love."

Will smiled at how simple it sounded.

"Do you have children?"

"A daughter. Jane. I named her..."

"...for your sister," Will finished.

"How...?"

"When we met," he said. "You said your father was your dearest friend apart from your sister Jane."

"You remembered that?"

Will bowed his head.

"And what of you, Mr. Darcy?"

"What of me?"

"Well, are you married?"

"No," Will said, "but soon to be."

Elizabeth smiled. "And who is the lucky lady?"

"Anne DeBourgh," Will answered. "The daughter of my mother's sister. We have known each other for many years, much like you and your husband."

"My congratulations," said Elizabeth. "I'm sure you love her very much."

Those green eyes demanded truth, and Will was tempted to give it to her.

But, in a moment of irrational jealousy, he thought of James Pauley, the man she'd loved from childhood and her husband. Those green eyes belonged to James Pauley, and not to him, and he owed them nothing.

"Yes," he said, "I do, and we are certain to be most happy."

Will left for Rosings the following day.


	3. Chapter 3

It had not been a matter of if Lizzie and James would marry. That they should be together always was unquestionable, since the day he was seven and she was five and he had presented her with a bouquet of daffodils and said, "Miss Lizzie, will you be my wife?"

He had asked her again, of course, seventeen years later, after he passed his bar examinations and became a lawyer. Lizzie would have married him the next day if he'd allowed for it, but James was prudent and thoughtful and wanted to do things right; he wanted to set up a house and have an income before he took a wife. Lizzie was put out, but she also knew that this was the way he was. She, for all the world, would not change him.

James was an unusual sort of man, in that he did not mind having a wife like Lizzie. It was acknowledged that they were joint partners, that finances were discussed openly, that decisions were made together. Lizzie spoke frankly, and so did James, and though they disagreed, they respected one another. In this way, Lizzie considered her marriage not a cession of her independence but rather a fulfillment of her soul, a merging with her better half.

They lived half a day's journey from Meryton, which proved to be a manageable distance from Mrs. Bennet, but an inconvenient one from the rest of their relations. But Lizzie would not have cared if they lived on a deserted island in the Indies, because James made her inexpressibly happy. Jane came three years after their marriage - a vibrant redhead, much like her father, with her mother's stubborn personality - and no father had ever cared for a daughter as much as James did for little Jane.

Their lives were not perfect, as it happens. James and Lizzie had known each other too long not to quarrel. Nights were spent apart, but usually by dawn, one or the other appeared at the bedroom door, begging forgiveness that was readily accepted.

They made a point to travel when they could. James had taken a liking to the Gardiners especially among Lizzie's relations and they often visited them, as they did that July of 1810.

One evening during that visit, Mrs. Gardiner had guests - something that gregarious James usually enjoyed, but he begged off on account of a previous engagement with a friend from his university days. Lizzie found it strange to be without him - indeed, his time at university was the only significant time they had spent apart - but she, like her husband, enjoyed company and passed the evening making friends and internally making fun of those she could not make friends.

Later in the evening, Lizzie climbed into bed beside her husband, snuggling close.

"And how was Mrs. Gardiner's social event?" asked said husband, stroking her hair.

Lizzie propped up on an arm to consider him. "Not awful."

James grinned impishly. "Not awful? High praise indeed, Mistress Cynic."

Lizzie hit him playfully. "Most of my aunt's friends are awful. But there was a certain gentleman...he seemed less worse than the rest."

"A certain gentleman? Ought I be worried?"

Lizzie rolled her eyes. "Oh, no, I'm afraid I'm destined to waste out the rest of my days with you alone, my love."

"Don't become overrun with excitement, wife," laughed James.

"The pleasure is all mine, husband."

"And this certain gentleman who was less worse than the rest?"

"His name is Mr. Darcy," said Lizzie. "Aunt Marie was friends with his mother when she was a girl. I met him, long ago, after his mother had died. Briefly, of course."

"And?"

"He was most standoffish," Lizzie admitted. "Rather unsociable and awkward. I pitied him. He's still a bit aloof. But...he seems decent. His has not been an easy lot."

"Darcy? They own Pemberley, do they not? In Derbyshire?"

"I don't recall the name of the house, but I suppose it's in Derbyshire, for Aunt Marie grew up there."

"I wouldn't pity him," James said stoutly. "He's got to have ten thousand a year, at the least."

"For shame, you know as well as any that money does not buy one's felicity," Lizzie said, annoyed at James's instant judgment of Mr. Darcy.

"Yes, but we all lose parents," James pointed out. "You, of all people, would know that. Yet you don't have a lavish house and ten thousand a year to console you."

"And you think these things ought to console Mr. Darcy?"

"I'm saying he has a deal of money and a commendable position in society," said James. "I think he ought to stop being quizzical and start using it to better the world in which he lives."

"I'm going to see if Jane's asleep," Lizzie said suddenly, weary of arguing about Mr. Darcy, a man they barely knew. She sprang from the bed to find her shawl.

James grasped her hand quickly. As if he could read her mind, he said, "This is a silly conversation, my dear; we'll never see the fellow again, you know."

"Yes, but you do not need to insult him," Lizzie said petulantly. "I met him, not you. It is my judgment to make."

James smiled easily. "As you say. Now will you come back to bed?"

When he smiled in that particular way, it was difficult for Lizzie to stay angry with him. She bounded back into bed and nestled into his embrace.

"You are probably correct," she whispered. "We leave for the Collins' tomorrow, after all."

"Heaven forbid!" laughed James. "I'd rather not be reminded. And if I have to hear one more time about the endless virtues of his patroness, Lady What's-her-name! I swear, my love, I'm taking Jane and leaving you alone there."

Their ensuing argument about the obnoxious husband of Lizzie's friend Charlotte ended in kisses, and Lizzie fell asleep with her hand splayed protectively across her husband's chest.

And so Lizzie and James left for Kent the next day, their first visit to the parsonage where the recently married Collins' had made their home.


	4. Chapter 4

Lizzie and James had barely exchanged greetings with their friends and shrugged off their traveling cloaks when Mr. Collins made the announcement.

"We're to sup at Lady DeBourgh's this evening!" he verily cried out. "She has invited us, all of us. Even my cousins. I trust you've brought presentable evening wear?"

James grinned a half-grin that only Lizzie could have noticed.

"I don't know, Mrs. Pauley," he said, turning to her. "Have we brought anything appropriate for a party of such dignity?"

"Dignity, indeed, Mr. Pauley," interjected Mr. Collins. "Lady Catherine, as well as her daughter Lady Anne, will be in attendance."

"I think we have suitable attire for the occasion," Lizzie said firmly, before James could provoke Mr. Collins with another quip.

Mr. Collins' relief was palpable. "If not," he added, "I doubt my patroness will remark upon it. She is quite used to interacting with those decidedly beneath her station in life."

A silence settled over the room, which Charlotte ended by offering to ring for tea to be sent into the parlor.

Several hours later, the Pauleys found themselves trudging up the lawn of Rosings Park, trailing behind Mr. Collins, who kept a brisk pace to the house.

The house, once they reached it, was as lavish as Mr. Collins had always promised it would be. Lizzie was reminded of the one time her aunt and uncle had brought her to Chatsworth House in Derbyshire when she was a girl. As the maid ushered them through the main hall –– adorned by paintings on the walls, a tapestry on the ceiling, marble floors and statues adorning the space –– James let out a low whistle.

"And this is the woman who _patronizes _your cousin," he said, shaking his head. "Of all people."

"Hush," Lizzie urged, as the maid ushered them into a sitting room, where two ladies and two gentlemen sat.

Immediately Lizzie had no doubt about which lady was Lady Catherine. Tall, stately, with white hair tied back in a severe bun, she cast an imposing figure. When she spoke, one could feel the room collectively trouble.

"Collins," she snapped, "you are late."

Mr. Collins stumbled over his words. "M-My lady, my most sincere apologies, we were –– "

"No matter," Lady Catherine cut smoothly over him. "Who have you brought with you this evening?"

"My wife, Mrs. Collins, as you know, your ladyship," Mr. Collins said obviously. Charlotte curtsied. "And this is Mrs. Pauley, my cousin, and her husband Mr. Pauley."

James and Lizzie made the appropriate obeisances.

"Thank you for inviting us into your home," James said with uncharacteristic humility.

Lady Catherine waved a hand. "You are guests of Collins', Mr. Pauley. I trust I will come to know you better over the course of the evening." She turned to the other people in the room, who had risen upon the party's arrival.

"This is my nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam," she said, gesturing to a blonde man in a regimental uniform. "My daughter, Lady Anne," gesturing to the lady, who looked pale and demure. "And Darcy, where are you?"

Lizzie's heart skipped a beat as a tall, dark-haired man stepped out from behind Colonel Fitzwilliam. "Mrs. Pauley," he breathed, as Lizzie answered, "_Mr. Darcy_?"

Of all the people in the world, Lizzie thought, she would have last expected Mr. Darcy to be sitting in this drawing room. Yet, she found, the surprise was far from unwelcome. For some reason, it was comforting to see him here, in this strange place, for some reason smiling.

"You have met?" Lady Catherine's shock was greater than anyone else's.

"Mrs. Pauley is the niece of my dear friends the Gardiners," Mr. Darcy explained, before suddenly and awkwardly approaching Lizzie and bowing over her hand. He extended a hand to James.

"Your wife, when my father died, was an inexpressible comfort to me, though I did not deserve it," he said. "I am Fitzwilliam Darcy, and I'm honored to make your acquaintance."

James, though taken aback, responded in kind. "The honor is all mine, Mr. Darcy."

Fitzwilliam, Lady Catherine and Lady Anne seemed frozen in shock as Darcy bowed over Mrs. Collins' hand as well and shook Mr. Collins'.

Lizzie, however, stared fixedly at the man who acted as though he knew her so familiarly, understanding little, especially the churning feeling in her stomach.

"Let us sit," Darcy said. "Anne, my dear, you must speak to Mrs. Pauley. I expect you will have much in common."

Finally, comprehension dawned upon Lizzie.

"Your betrothed," she said suddenly, and when James and Mr. Darcy turned to stare at her, she said, "I apologize, but you said your betrothed was the daughter of your mother's sister. I am assuming, Lady Anne, that you and Mr. Darcy are betrothed?"

Lady Anne spoke for the first time.

"Yes, Mrs. Pauley," she whispered.

"My congratulations," Lizzie said, loudly and heartily. "I'm glad to make your acquaintance."

"All well, then," said Mr. Darcy, in the same hearty tone of voice. "Shall the gentlemen then retire before supper? My aunt and cousin dearly love Mrs. Collins' company, and I expect they will feel the same way about you, Mrs. Pauley."

His suggestion was met with a general and loud consensus.

Except for James, who gave Lizzie a quizzical look and squeezed her hand. Before taking his leave, he echoed Mr. Darcy. His words, however, were a question.

"All well, then?"

Lizzie's answering smile was real. But she felt like a liar as she delivered her response.

"All well," she said, but her eyes were fixated on Mr. Darcy as he quitted the room.


End file.
